


Eventuality

by mneiai



Series: Potentiality [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Dark, Dark Daenerys Targaryen, Don't Like Don't Read, F/F, F/M, Game of Thrones Fix-It, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Roles, Gender or Sex Swap, Genderfluid Character, House Targaryen, Lannister bashing, M/M, Misgendering, Multi, Not Beta Read, Pansexual Character, Politics, Post-Season/Series Finale, Targaryen Restoration, The Patriarchy, Time Travel Fix-It, Trans Jon Snow, canon-typical incest, not for sniveling bigots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:53:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24051640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mneiai/pseuds/mneiai
Summary: Jon Snow died in the True North, but was not allowed to rest--now he's in the South again, playing politics as the rightful queen as he tries to control his spouse's need for vengeance.Daenerys Targaryen died in the arms of her lover, then woke up in a world where everything was better--for her. As King Daeron wages a war for his rightful throne, he'll be forced to acknowledge how little he knows of Westeros and the man he loves.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Jon Snow/Val, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand
Series: Potentiality [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1735099
Comments: 22
Kudos: 187





	1. King's Landing

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter One is a check-in to see how some events are going, technically a prologue but AO3 chapter numbering makes that annoying. The rest picks up soon after the end of the first part of this series--Jon and Dany have wed in Winterfell and settled in Dragonstone.
> 
> ETA: I've turned on comment moderation because this fandom can't be trusted not to be bigoted.

Keeping control of the capital, and thus the kingdoms that remained to them, took up nearly all of Tyrion's time. He longed for a good drink, for a talented whore, but all he got was paperwork and meetings.

The rumors spread by the Baratheon brothers, combined with Joffrey executing Ned Stark, had caused more problems than he'd wanted to deal with, but the invasion by Daeron Targaryen had been when everything started spinning out of control.

Cersei, as unconcerned as she'd been with the skirmishes around them that made up most of the current civil war, was absolutely fascinated by word of the young Targaryen. To his mortification (and Jaime's despair, if he hadn't been fighting in the Stormlands, he was sure), Tyrion didn't think he was the only one who heard her, time and again, suggest wedding the so-called Targaryen King.

If not for the tight control Tyrion was able to keep over the ravens, thanks to his absent father's orders to Pycelle, he thought Cersei would be attempting to negotiate a betrothal from the start. She had yet to accept that her age, and actions, and personality, all meant another marriage that wasn't forced on some poor man terrified of Tywin was slim.

The Riverlands were in chaos, the Stormlands and the Reach invading the Crownlands and Westerlands, Dorne was sitting back to enjoy the show, and the other three kingdoms had locked themselves up tight (not that anyone could blame the North, Tyrion was half-convinced they should just grant that wasteland independence and be done with it). But his sister was finally caring. Because of a man she didn't even know.

Each Small Council meeting was worse than the last, though, and as Varys simpered in, Tyrion had to continually remind himself of the wine waiting for him in his solar.

"What news?" Cersei asked, leaning forward eagerly. 

Joffrey made no attempt to take control, of course, already looking bored with the duties of a king.

"It appears that Daeron Targaryen went North, first." Confused murmurs filled the room, but didn't drown out Varys' words. "To greet his _trueborn niece_ , Alysanne Targaryen, formerly known as her maternal uncle's bastard, Joanna Snow."

By the time Tyrion had managed to shout everyone to silence, he gave up on his foolish notion of staying sober and was ordering a cupbearer to bring them wine.

"This is even better news," Cersei gasped, gripping a fuming Joffrey's arm. "A bride worthy of our King."

"I won't marry _dragonspawn_. We should have the mountain smash her to pieces, just like her brother!"

Tyrion wasn't the only one wincing at that, though in his case it was because they'd made every effort to _not_ acknowledge it was Tywin's bannermen (under Tywin's orders) that killed Rhaegar's family.

"It's a moot point, I'm afraid," Varys interrupted, in what Tyrion thought was almost a smug manner. "They rushed to Winterfell, where Daeron and Alysanne were wed."

News traveled slowly from the North, especially now, but Tyrion doubted that Varys had only just found that out. 

Though, he did very much enjoy having the chance to watch this breakdown of Cersei's in person.

House Lannister had his loyalty, no matter how badly he was treated, and he would stand with them against the Targaryens, but he almost wished this conflict would drag itself out, if only so Cersei would break a little more each day.


	2. Dragonstone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written sort of haphazardly, so I hope I didn't miss any glaring mistakes.

The island had never supported a large population, dense as it was in rock and little else, but with the supplies and troops constantly moving from Essos, the small port town was a bustling place.

Even without the guards trailing him every step of the way and Missandei at his side, though, Jon drew attention in the crowds.

Here, where most were either dragonseed long in the service of House Targaryen or Essosi who worshipped the Father of Dragons, most of that attention was fawning.

Jon, even as the King in the North, had never received such praise just for existing before. Free food was offered, that he was not allowed to eat. Other gifts were passed onto servants accompanying him, to be searched over before he could ever touch them. Dany obsessed over every single assassination attempt from her last life and made restrictions that chafed at Jon constantly.

But despite that paranoia, he'd managed to visit every few days since arriving on Dragonstone, mostly when Daeron was busy dealing with the issues of his Eastern holdings that Jon knew little of. At least, that's the excuse Daeron normally used to shuffle Jon out of the room, which he gladly took to mean he'd have a few hours before he was expected anywhere.

The reminder that this was his seat when they first arrived had been taken to heart. He had looked through what records remained, had spoken to the castle's staff, and now was trying to know the residents.

His knowledge of Valyrian was praised by the islanders, who despite Stannis' occupation had still spoken it, and made his interactions with the visitors easier, as well. And Daeron, who now used it almost exclusively with Jon when not around lords of Westeros. It unnerved him, but not enough to waste his efforts on putting a stop to it when there was so much else to do. He had to be careful how he spent the king's goodwill.

But on this walk through his territory, it was the gruff, familiar sound of the Old Tongue that pulled him out of tedious greetings and blessings, from playing the good Queen, to a motley group of free folk.

"Have you come for protection?" he asked, keeping his use of their language from being as smooth as he could have made it.

They were impressed, he could tell, even with that fumbled-seeming attempt, and loosened from some of their defensiveness at seeing a noble. "Aye, we're no use in the fight," one said. "And no use staying to add soldiers to _his_ army."

Some of them looked very old for free folk, he realized as he looked them over, others were weak looking, as though from ailments, still others were missing limbs in such a way to make fighting difficult. By the time he'd gotten to Hardholme in the last life, most of these people could have already been dead and risen.

"There is as much honor in knowing when not to fight as there is in fighting," Jon stated, relieved to be around people who understood the unique threat that the Army of the Dead represented. "This is my island and I would be glad to see you settled here, if you would like, and supported in what work you know." 

To survive among the free folk as they were meant they could trade for what they couldn't hunt themselves. And for those without trades, his castle still had many open positions that needed little training to perform. It would give him somewhat of an edge, with so many of Daeron's servants filling in at the moment.

One of the elders in the group whispered words to the figures around her, then stood. "And what place would Southron lords have for a woodswitch?"

He sucked in a breath. "You will find that we are open to many magics here, especially any that could heal our injured or offer wisdom gifted by experience and the Old Gods."

Jon himself wanted no part of it, but Daenerys had been fascinated by mysticism and that was no different now.

"You have the look of the First Men about you," another began, "are the proper gods yours?"

"They were my mother's gods and my gods growing up," was the best he could offer them, but seemed acceptable enough, and they let him send some off with a servant to find temporary shelter.

Missandei walked beside him as they returned to the castle, Jon's mind already running through what arrangements would be needed. They linked arms as they started through the more crowded portions of the market, staying closely pressed between the bodies of the guards.

"That was very kind of you."

He gave a sardonic smile. "Was it? Wishing for some slice of familiarity in this place?"

"It was. You could invite lords and ladies from your cousin's lands at any time, but instead you are offering a place to refugees. Yourself and the king are two of a kind."

"I think you wish to see the best in us, so that is what you see." Certainly it had been how she was in the last life, but she'd been so much closer to Dany then. 

Jon wondered if he was her Daenerys, now, if Missandei needed to cling to someone after so long feeling alone as a slave. He had vowed not to take advantage of her before, but sometimes he wondered if not demanding that Daeron send her to her home was already doing that.

"Lady Val thinks well of you, is she doing the same?"

He couldn't help but chuckle at that. "I saved her people, of course she does "

Missandei's pointed look made him mentally squirm. "And I wonder why others might praise you, your grace."

Scoffing, he turned the conversation to the empty staff positions. He never wanted to get used to praise, never wanted to reach the point where he desperately needed it. He'd seen what that had done to Daenerys.


	3. Dragonstone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is staying safe, especially my Black and trans readers.

The inside of the Chamber of the Painted Table was etched into Daeron's mind. When he closed his eyes, he thought he could see it there, still.

And yet time free of it, of planning his Conquest, was rare. 

It was not, he constantly reminded himself, as bad as it had been. Without Varys and Tyrion there, undermining him, making him question himself.

No, the only person at the table who spent energy on more than added observations was Jon. For as little as he cared about restoring their family's dynasty, he seemed to care a great deal about how Daeron waged his war.

Still, for as much as he challenged Daeron, sometimes on the very knife's edge of something he may need punished for, he did manage to surprise in some ways.

"A quick strike," he stated when asked his opinion (an indulgence, most of the Westerosi advisers Daeron had brought on thought, allowing the Queen to feel useful). "They'll know you're here, they'll know you have dragons. They might have even been able to dig up old plans for the devices the Dornish used against them. But they'll be expecting a siege by an army."

"And what else would we give them?" Oberyn was watching Jon, face full of wanton bloodlust.

"No matter what they've prepared for, no one in Westeros has fought a dragon in over a century." He looked up, catching and holding Daeron's gaze. "We strike fast, with Balerion and Meraxes. Destroying the Red Keep and leaving the smallfolk be."

Silence. Then Oberyn chuckled, surely having the fantasy that Daeron did, of the Lannisters burning in their stolen home.

"You can't _burn down_ the Red Keep, your grace!" Lord Velaryon protested.

A loyalist, punished for serving Daeron's father during the Rebellion, from a family that had married Targaryens many times over. But still, the way he spoke to Jon was unacceptable.

He took Jon's hand gently into his own, a non-subtle show of affection, before addressing the Lord. "And why might we not?" Before a reply was offered, he continued, "This, Dragonstone, is our true ancestral home. And the Red Keep has become the Usurpers' den. Let us raze it with fire and blood and reforge something new, a true Targaryen symbol, in its place."

The thought of riding beside Jon as they destroyed that accursed building was distracting and Daeron soon called an end to the meeting, sending all the others away.

He pulled Jon into his lap as soon as the door shut behind the last of their advisers.

"Dany," was the hissed response, Jon still unused to the ever watchful eyes of the Unsullied.

They were necessary, more necessary than any form of privacy. There were so many ways, even here in their seat of power, for someone to hurt them. Or, worse even, could try to twist Jon's heart away from him.

"I cannot resist you."

Jon made a face, nose crinkling up adorably. "We have work to do."

He almost spoke of their need for an heir, that sex did indeed qualify as work, but he knew better than that. He'd made it clear to the Maester and midwives that Jon should receive no moon tea, but whether it was their Targaryen blood making conception harder or stress, there was no child on the way, yet.

"We can spare a few moments, my love."

Jon relented, rolling his eyes as they kissed.

Soon enough Jon was forgetting the guards around them, the servants in the halls beyond, and whoever else could be listening, and was crying out Daeron's name.

They retreated to Daeron's bedroom, after, for another round. Then they laid in bed, Daeron wrapped around Jon, always wanting him as close and secure as possible.

"What are the chances the Tarlys will betray the Tyrells in this world?" 

Daeron spent very little time alone with Jon and regretted he had to break short their afterglow for information.

"...I think they're slim. A great deal had happened and the Tyrells were in a very precarious situation last time." He paused. "The Reach might be safe, the Florents are surely the only problem."

"The Florents?"

"...Because of Stannis' wife?"

Daeron sighed, nuzzling deeper into Jon's hair. "Of course. We can help the Tyrells with their internal defenses--"

"They won't need much, the Tarlys and Hightowers are the main worry and both will probably stay loyal to the liege this time."

It would be easier to just raze Westeros to the ground, he mused, and return east than to bother with all the politics he'd been able to skip the last time.

"Let's move onto the Vale," he muttered, instead.


	4. Dragonstone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a bit behind on my ASOIAF/GoT fics right now because I got back into an old fandom lol if you're an Obi-Wan Kenobi fan, I've got a few new fics where he's the main character to check out lol

The sun had not yet broken its way into the sky when Jon made his way down to the training yard, forcibly ignoring the way the servants and guards bowed to him as he passed. 

There he met with Hero. Grey Worm’s second in command had been overseeing the Unsullied guards during the nights since their return to Dragonstone. Tired as he may be, he was still a worthy opponent, and one off-duty and willing to entertain his queen.

Jon knew, on some level, that this was all part of Dany’s plans for him--the more of the Essosi he befriended, the less time he might spend among the Westerosi. But as much as that left a sour taste in his mouth, he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed their presence. Outside of a few of the Northerners that had come down and the smattering of Dornish present, and Val (who was probably only just now leaving the tent of a Dothraki she’d come to favor), there were few who took him seriously.

Today Hero waited for him, spear ready, and they practiced until Jon thought his arms might fall from his shoulders. He was patient in that way Unsullied often seemed with non-Unsullied, as if just by fighting Jon had managed to do more than he expected.

After him, there was little reprieve, though, because he’d lasted long enough for one of Daeron’s bloodriders, Kovarro to come along. And while Jon has let go of much of his honor (and ego) from the last life, he finds a second wind if only to put in a good showing against him. The Dothraki, from what Jon could tell, had words for people like him and roles they could take. Their society had more restrictions on what men and women could do, but like with the Free Folk, had looser definitions of what a man and woman were.

Kovarro, like all of the people who had unknowingly followed Daenerys in another life, had a trusted position within Daeron’s ranks and was allowed to spar with Jon. There were others Jon would love to have a change to lock blades with who he was all-but forbidden contact with.

While he lost to Kovarro, he knew he had impressed him again, and was willing to take that friendly defeat. They ate, then, meals prepared by some of the Dothraki women and brought up specifically for them, and Jon let their words wash over him, only half-understood, as he rested.

He could have spent all day there, training and watching others train, a break from his duties that no one would dare scold him for, except a flurry of servants and guards came for him, begging him to clean up because of some important guest that had just appeared.

Missandei was in his rooms, along with Irri--who had appeared one day in his rooms and had easily fallen into the routine of handmaiden. With vague memories of what Dany said of her from the last life, Jon couldn’t bring himself to deny her such a place of privilege. 

They bathed him, far more quickly than was their norm, and dressed him in a feminine enough dress that he knew the person he had to greet was from Westeros. He only grumbled a little, scowling at himself in his looking glass as Missandei twirled his thick hair into braids that his crown would rest upon. 

Word came to him just before he left, from Arya who would actually know the significance, that Tyrion Lannister had appeared seeking the rightful king. Already ravens had gone out accusing him of murder, Jon knew, somehow events in the Red Keep still flowing along similar lines. 

Daeron met Jon's eyes as he entered the throne room to take his place at the king’s side and saw a welcome fire burning within them.

Finally, a death they both agreed on.

Despite himself, Jon found some amusement in the show that Daeron put on, like a cat playing with his food. Any hostility Tyrion saw, he must think was from his being a Lannister, something he thought he could overcome by being an outcast.


End file.
